


The Stain On Your Hands

by Imperfect_Sentence



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperfect_Sentence/pseuds/Imperfect_Sentence
Summary: Lucrezia deserves a man who is pure, whose hands are not stained with blood and sin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided it's time to migrate some of my old works over from my FanFiction.net account. Please enjoy some classic Cesare/Lucrezia set in Season 1 not long after Lucrezia's fateful wedding to Sforza.

Cesare Borgia wakes to the sound of silk slippers gliding across the marble floor of his chambers. Without opening his eyes, he knows his beloved sister Lucrezia has come to visit. When they were children, she often crawled into his bed, tucking her golden head beneath his chin and tangling their limbs, claiming she slept better at his side. Even when propriety forced them to opposite ends of the Borgia estate, he never forgot her light-footed gait, her sweet-smelling perfume. She is ingrained in every part of him, like God within their family.

Lucrezia settles beside him, the mattress dipping slightly. Cesare props himself on one elbow, watching her smooth her heavy skirts. She swallows, tendons in her neck straining, tongue darting out to moisten rosy lips. For as long as he can remember, he has wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips, to claim them with his teeth and tongue. He settles for placing his hand over her own – his golden brown tan stark against her pallor. The delicate bones of her fingers and wrists are more prominent than he remembers. He considers scolding her to eat more but bites his tongue at the glassy look in her eyes.

"Sis'?"

She does not acknowledge the endearment. Her gaze is trained on the thin strip of moonlight filtering between the heavy red drapes. Beneath his hand, Cesare feels her clench her fists, crumpling the intricate embroidery of her skirts. A chill not unlike the blade of one of Micheletto's daggers scrapes along his spine.

"What has happened? Speak." Cesare's voice is dangerously quiet. He kicks off the silk sheets and sits up, touching two fingers to his sister's jaw. Applying gentle pressure, he forces her to look at him. Her lips are pressed tight enough to shatter; her once vibrant blue eyes, eerily vacant, the corners crinkled with thin lines where before there were none. For a long moment, she is still. Then, she leans into the touch, eyes squeezing shut, long blonde hair trailing across her neck, revealing a chain of blue-black bruises shaped like fingers.

The ice in Cesare's blood turns to acid; he has to clench his fists to keep from ripping the sheets, to keep from throwing the Venetian vase on the bedside table across the room. He has known Sforza was trouble from the moment they met – he has spent enough time in the seedy underbelly of the Vatican to recognise cruelty in a man's gaze, in a man's heart. His hatred for the condottiero is exceeded only by his hatred for himself for allowing his sister to wed such a beast.

Cesare seizes Lucrezia's wrists, her pulse fluttering beneath his thumbs. "Say the word and I shall break every bone in his body, peel off his skin and feed him his own entrails. I shall burn his home, slaughter his family. Death will be a kindness. A mercy." He stares into her face, trying to assess the damage, trying to determine what remains of the girl whom he once chased around the papal courtyard, whose laughter sounded like church bells. She refuses look at him. He feels his heart, the heart she has owned since their mother first placed her in his arms, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

"Let us not speak of death," Lucrezia's voice is barely a whisper, "for I am only alive when I am with you."

"'Crezia."

Lucrezia tugs free of her brother's grip and touches his face, his stubble rasping beneath her palms. She traces his cheekbones, his nose, the bow of his lips. She is so close he can count every fleck of gold in her irises, can almost taste her sweet breath.

"Every day without you, I am like a flower shrouded in darkness, shrivelling to ash. You are my waking thought, my nightly dreams. Many times I thought of ending my life only I could not knowing I would spend eternity without you," she whispers the final words against his lips.

The room is deathly quiet. Cesare thinks his heart has stopped. How many times has he imagined saying such things, doing such things? He must be dreaming. But his dreams have never been this real. Never have they captured the scent of bath oils on her skin, the warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips. He wants nothing more than to open his mouth, to taste her on his tongue and swallow her whole. But he can see himself reflected in her eyes. Such darkness has no place in her. He pulls away.

"My love, you deserve a man who is pure, whose hands are not stained with blood and sin." His tone is bitter, filled with self-loathing. He takes her hands from his face and cradles them in his lap. He can feel an odd-shaped ridge – the mark of a recent and ill-healed break – above the glittering stone in her wedding ring.

"A man whose hands are not stained with blood and sin has not lived," says Lucrezia determinedly. For the first time since she entered his chambers, Cesare sees light in her eyes, a hint of the sparkle he remembers from their youth whenever she resolved to stay up late or spy on his liaisons with courtesans. "And you know I will never love another as I love you."

"But what of God?"

"Do the scriptures not say that love is from God, and that whomever loves has been born of God and knows God?" Lucrezia pauses, eyes wide and earnest. "I do not know many things but I know this – I love you, Cesare Borgia. Surely God understands."

Cesare opens his mouth to protest but loses the ability to speak when Lucrezia's hand begins travelling up his thigh. She touches him with but the tips of her fingers, creating a trail of flame culminating in his groin. For years, he has been dangling on the precipice of this, wanting but never daring. He has not the strength to fight anymore.

When she kisses him, he moans into her mouth, teeth clicking, tongues tangling. She tastes like mulled wine; the sweetness makes him dizzy. He would sup on nothing else forever if she let him.

She catches him off-guard, forcing him backwards onto the pillows and straddling his lap. He is half-hard for her already, his hips bucking upwards of their own accord. He can feel the heat of her through his cotton breeches, her wetness painting his thighs. With a sharp intake of breath, he realises she is not wearing small clothes.

The notion she came with the intention of seducing him is like hellfire in his veins. He flips them and buries his nose in the crook of her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulders and throat. Whimpering, she throws her head back, furthering his access. He laves her bruises, hoping to transform pain into pleasure, to erase the memory that Lucrezia was ever anyone's but his.

Bracing himself on his forearms, Cesare looks down on his sister. He thinks she has never looked so beautiful – lips bruised, skin flushed, hair spilled across the pillows. Hooking his fingers in the bodice of her dress, he hastily frees her breasts. The mounds are small and pert with rosy nipples, just as they were the time he spied her bathing through an open window during his fifteenth summer. In the years that followed, he spent many a night trying to forget the way the bath water had dripped down her naked body, his skin slick with guilty sweat, his fist tight around his cock.

He tweaks her nipples, feeling them harden between his fingers. She arches into his touch, begging him to take one in his mouth. Never one to deny her, he flicks his tongue over a nub and gently bites, feeling rather than hearing the moan from deep within her chest, _"Cesare!"_

One hand trailing down her side, Cesare looks at his sister with hooded eyes, the black of his pupils blown wide. "Do you know how often I have dreamed of this, sweet sister? How many nights I have lain awake imagining your face as I pleasure you?" He grasps the hem of her gown, dragging it over her hips. The skin of her inner thighs is soft as the mink throw at the edge of the bed. She trembles at his touch.

"You are so wet for me, my love," Cesare breathes against her neck, stroking the moist thatch of hair between her thighs. Pressing a single finger into her, he hears her cry out, her inner walls clamping down on him. "You are perfect. Divine."

Once, twice, he thrusts his finger into her before adding another, slowly stretching. He kisses his way down her body – the gap between her clavicles, her breasts, her ribs, her stomach – and nudges her legs apart with his head. Locking eyes with her, he removes his fingers and licks a stripe from her entrance to clitoris. He has to hold her hips to keep her from bucking off the bed.

_"Oh God!"_

Cesare chuckles low in his throat, his breath hot against her clitoris. He is about to touch his tongue to her again when he feels her tugging him up by his hair. His heart jumps to his throat. Surely he will die if she wishes to stop.

"You do not feel... repulsed doing that?" Lucrezia peers at him through her lashes, a rosy flush covering her cheeks and chest. She looks so innocent, so naïve. He feels both furious and glad he should be the one to teach her this.

"Nothing about you could possibly repulse me."

"But does it not taste bad?"

"Quite the contrary. See for yourself." Leaning forward, Cesare claims his sister's mouth in a searing kiss, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue. Long moments later, they break apart, breathless and dizzy, a strand of salvia between them.

Laughing, Lucrezia nips her brother's lip, breaking the strand. "How... Distasteful."

"Did you just call me distasteful?"

"And if I did?"

With a dangerous grin, Cesare grinds their hips together, creating friction that has them gasping. "I should punish you, sweet sister." He bites her earlobe, tugging it into his mouth.

She groans, "I wish you would."

Pressing one last kiss to her lips, Cesare crawls down his sister's body and continues his ministrations. He tongues her clitoris, gradually gaining speed until she is writhing beneath him. The first thrust of his fingers has her biting her knuckles to keep quiet. He presses a kiss to her inner thigh and sighs, "One day we will be in a place where I can hear you."

His words combined with a sharp suck of her clitoris have her spasming around his around his fingers, choking out his name. Blood roaring in his ears, Cesare thrusts his hips into the mattress, imagining himself deep inside her. The thought is almost enough to push him over the edge.

Digging her nails into his shoulders, Lucrezia pulls her brother on top of her and crushes their mouths together, licking the moisture from his lips. Her hands scramble to remove his shirt and breeches but he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head. She whines into his neck, "Can I not touch you, brother?"

Cesare presses his nose to hers. "You are touching me."

"Don't be daft, Cesare."

A chuckle. "You needn't concern yourself. Your pleasure is my pleasure, my sweet."

"And yours is mine." Lucrezia struggles to free herself but Cesare's strength is too much. She draws her thigh between his legs, massaging his hardness. His breath snags in his throat, bolts of pleasure shooting down his spine, eroding his already tenuous self-control.

He hisses in her ear, "Do not tempt me, sis'. If we do this, there is no going back. I shall be yours, and you shall be mine. Now and forever."

"I have always been yours, Cesare. _Please_."

His resolve shatters. He cannot ignore her impassioned plea. With one hand, he shoves down his breeches, hooks her thigh over his hip and positions himself at her entrance. The feel of her hot and slick against his tip alone is better than anything he has ever felt with a woman. Not even Ursula can compete.

Lacing their fingers, Cesare inches forward, his muscles straining against the need to take her hard, to bury himself as deeply as possible. The knowledge Sforza must have done so grants him the strength to wait for her body to relax, for her hips to move experimentally. Tucking a damp tendril of hair behind her ear, he presses a kiss to her forehead. "Are you ready?"

Covering his mouth with her own, Lucrezia answers with a roll of her hips. Cesare begins thrusting slowly, steadily, wanting to prolong the moment, to memorise the look in his sister's eyes, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the sound of her gasps, high and breathy, in his ear. As they gain momentum, he feels her body trembling, her heels digging into his lower back hard enough to bruise. He welcomes the pain. In the morning, when he must forget this ever happened, he can prove to himself it has.

Too soon, Cesare feels his peak approaching. He slides a hand between them to where their bodies join. Lucrezia gasps in his ear, a strangled sound that gives him pause. A tear rolls down her cheek. An icy fist squeezes his heart.

"What's wrong? Have I hurt you?"

She shakes her head, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "No, no."

"Shall I stop?"

" _Never!_ " she cries, very nearly shouting. "Please, Cesare. Don't stop. Never stop." She kisses him until the world blurs to nought but taste and sensation. "I want you and only you. I do not wish this to end. I do not wish you to _leave_."

"Oh, Lucrezia. Sweet sister." He returns her kisses, licking the tears from her cheeks, babbling adorations in her ear over and over and over again until she is shuddering beneath him and it is all he can do to withdraw and spill hot and wet across her belly.

He collapses on her, breathing hard, his heart thundering in time with hers. His limbs feel boneless; his body drained. He attempts to roll off her but she traps him in a tight embrace.

"Stay," she whispers.

"Surely I am crushing you."

"I do not care."

He tilts her head and kisses her slowly, deeply. Her eyes flutter closed, her grip loosening enough to enable him to roll onto the mattress and pull her to his chest. She fits like the final piece of a puzzle, completing him in every way.

"I love you, Lucrezia," he says, feeling happy for the first time what feels like forever. "I am not going anywhere."

Lucrezia smiles against his chest and, until the early hours of the morning at least, they sleep peacefully.


End file.
